Yama: the pit eBook

off; and when they sentenced her to sit in jail for
a year and a half, why, it came to a pre-etty penny
for her. She had to shell out four hundred for
Kerbesh alone ... And then it also happens:
a little pig of that kind will cook up some sort of
disease for himself and start in whining: ‘Oh,
papa! Oh, mamma! I am dying!’ ’Tell
me, you skunk, where you got it?’ ‘There
and there ...’ Well, and so they haul you
over the coals again; judge me, thou unrighteous judge!”

“Pass on, pass on,” said he to the cadets
sternly.

The cadets entered, blinking from the bright light.
Petrov, who had been drinking to get up courage, swayed
and was pale. They sat down beneath the picture
of the Feast of the Russian Noblemen, and immediately
two of the young ladies—­Verka and Tamara—­joined
them on both sides.

“Treat me to a smoke, you beautiful little brunet!”
Verka turned to Petrov; and as though by accident
put against his leg her strong, warm thigh, closely
drawn over with white tights. “What an
agreeable little fellow you are!”

Tamara looked him in the eyes intently—­looked
so fixedly, that the boy even began to feel uncomfortable,
and turned away.

“No. Why should she be busy? Only
the whole day to-day her head ached; she was walking
through the corridor, and at that time the housekeeper
opened the door quickly and accidentally struck her
in the forehead—­and so her head started
in to ache. The poor thing, she’s lying
the whole day with a cold pack. But why?
Or can’t you hold out? Wait a while, she’ll
come out in five minutes. You’ll remain
very much satisfied with her.”

Verka pestered Petrov:

“Sweetie, dearie, what a tootsie-wootsicums
you are! I adore such pale brunets; they are
jealous and very fiery in love.”

And suddenly she started singing in a low voice:

“He’s kind of
brown,
My light, my own,
Won’t sell me
out, and won’t deceive.
He suffers madly,
Pants and coat gladly
All for a woman he will
give.”

“How do they call you, ducky dear?”

“George,” answered Petrov in a hoarse,
cadet’s bass.

“Jorjik Jorochka! Ah, how very nice!”

She suddenly drew near to his ear and whispered with
a cunning face:

“Jorochka, come to me.”

Petrov was abashed and forlornly let out in a bass:

“I don’t know ... It all depends
on what the comrade says, now ...”

Verka burst into loud laughter:

“There’s a case for you! Say, what
an infant it is! Such as you, Jorochka, in a
little village would long since have been married;
but he says: ‘It all depends on the comrade!’
You ought to ask a nurse or a wet nurse yet!
Tamara, my angel, just imagine: I’m calling
him to go sleeping, but he says: ’It all
depends on the comrade.’ What about you,
mister friend, are you his bringer up?”